


In Omnibus, Fratris

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, Erotica, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Incest, M/M, Slash, The Quidditch Pitch: The Changing Room, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-21
Updated: 2007-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:40:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: Ron didn't expect Charlie to be his liberator from Azkaban. Then again, neither did he expect him to have become a vampire, nor that his brother could bring a new, and welcome, comfort.





	In Omnibus, Fratris

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes: By request, for Wolfie, without whom my life would be exceeding dark.   


* * *

  
The doors of Azkaban prison didn't clang shut— they despaired.

A pall of mutilated dignities of the incarcerated witches and wizards seeped through the bars, burrowing deeper into Ron's bitterness. He lay in a foetal heap, his shoulder jabbing painfully into the unforgiving stone. A wrack of shivers assaulted him and he clenched his jaw against his chattering teeth. His cold hands were held vise-like between his knees. Abruptly he wrenched himself up from the floor, his knees creaking, hugging himself for warmth. There was a shuffling coming down the corridor. That never boded well, as Dementors glided; shuffling required feet, which meant that a prisoner was either being "released" — receiving the Kiss — or being admitted. More people meant that the underground movement against those who'd fought for Voldemort wasn't going well, and it had been pretty dismal when Ron had been captured and thrown into prison. Harry was still out there, Ron believed it with every pulse that roared deafeningly in his ears. Given how close their friendship was, he just knew that he'd feel it if something happened to Harry. Ron had been through torture physical and psychological, but thank Merlin, he'd not had a sudden seizing in his heart, no sharp jab of terror to mark Harry's death.

Ron peered into the gloom and saw to his surprise that the person coming down the corridor had oddly luminous skin. Apparently he was threat enough to warrant a human gaoler, and the rope around his wrists glinted in the light of intermittently placed torches. The wizard got closer and closer, and seeing as how Ron was at the end of his row of cells, it looked as though Ron might have a new roommate. There was an alien fluidity to the stranger's steps — evidently it was the gaoler doing the shambling — but also an unexpected familiarity in the bowed legs…

"Charlie!" Ron rasped, his voice gravelly with disuse. His eyes grew wide when he took in the drastic transformation that had afflicted his brother. The gaoler tugged on Charlie's bindings and he winced, his eerily shining eyes glancing down to his wrists. Ron stared at the inflamed red tracks as his cell was unlocked and Charlie was shoved forward, into Ron's waiting arms. The restraints were unbound and fell to the floor, slithering back to the gaoler's hands as the door shut and locked.

"So touching," the gaoler said, his mocking smile showcasing his crooked ruin of teeth. "Brothers, together again. Whole lot of ginger-haired freaks, all of yous."

Ron didn't have the energy to retort, he just held on to Charlie, nosing into his lush hair and ignoring the grime and dirt clumps that infested it. Despite the warm comfort of having Charlie there — alive! — Ron wanted to cry at what was missing, Charlie's scent of musk and smoke, and the heat that usually radiated from his skin.

"I'm a vampire," Charlie said, his resonant voice spoken into Ron's collarbone.

"No shite."

As the gaoler's footstep's drifted away, Ron stood back, taking in his older brother's appearance. It was still Charlie, to be sure, though his burn scars were barely noticeable. His freckles had faded almost to nothing; the gleaming marble of his preternatural skin was shocking up close. Ron couldn't help it, a shudder of fear frissoned down his spine. Charlie seemed indomitable, strong and otherworldly. And famished.

"When did you last feed? Who the fuck did this to you? How's the Resistance? Harry??" The words tumbled out, increasing in pitch and volume as Ron gripped the muscles above Charlie's elbows. He breathed heavily, tears pricking his eyes. He hadn't allowed himself to feel anything in ages; after the first few weeks he'd quit counting days, figuring it would only make him go mad more quickly. He wasn't sure how long he'd been there.

"Hey, hey," Charlie said, soothing Ron by rubbing slow, deep circles on his back.

Ron's jumper and robes told a story of his part in the fighting; they were full of burn holes from hexes and spells barely missed, and some curses Ron hadn't been able to dodge. He closed his eyes, rubbing his face against Charlie's scalp. He dreaded what Charlie had to say, but he was desperate to know.

"D'you want to sit down?" Charlie asked. "I don't get uncomfortable anymore, well, not like that, but you probably don't want to keep standing up. Plus I don't want to be stared at by any of your neighbours." Charlie leaned back, a reassuring flicker of his former self sparking in his eyes.

"I don't seem to have many neighbours," Ron said, his sarcasm especially evident in the last word. "But it's true, you're quite a sight. I mean, you just look really… different."

Vampire or not, Ron was grateful not to be alone, and to have been given the gift of his favourite brother's company. Some of the slightly awkward thoughts Ron had had in the past and then suppressed began to burble up due to Charlie's proximity. Now was certainly not the time to tell him how he'd ogled Charlie's stocky form, admired the Siberian Snegbog tattoo on his upper back, how he envied the nameless lovers he'd overheard Charlie mention to Bill when hard pressed about his sex life. He shouldn't ever have fancied Charlie like that, though he felt a secret camaraderie with him since they both fancied blokes.

"Do I look that freakish?" Charlie quirked a rueful smile before swatting Ron affectionately on the arse. "Hope not. I'm still me. But we've got to talk about it. Here, let's sit."

Ron and Charlie went off to the corner where Ron had been lying not long ago. They spread out some mouldering blankets that had been on the metal slab cots bolted to the wall. Charlie down cross-legged, his motion elegant in a way Ron had never seen prior to his recent arrival. Before his brain caught up to his body, Ron had sunk to the ground and laid his head in Charlie's lap as though he were six again. Chagrinned, he raised up, but at Charlie's knowing chuckle, he rested back again. Charlie's wide, calloused fingers felt cool and satiny as he massaged his scalp.

"All right, Ronnie. You asked a bunch of questions. Before I start answering them, I just want to let you know— he's still okay. You know who I mean."

Ron let out a long, shuddering breath. His instincts had been right.

"And you know what else? We're getting out of here. Sooner than you think."

"Any time before I go batshite or die is sooner than I thought," Ron said darkly. "But I'll really look forward to whatever escape you've planned. You and whomever." Though his words came out blasé, Ron's heart skipped a bit faster at his liberating news.

"Not my plan. Not entirely. But there's time for me to talk for a bit. Well, first things first. I was out with Kingsley and Tonks during a raid out in the Hebrides, breaking up a vampire coven, when I got ambushed and cornered. Well, you can see what happened. I took out a few of them, but not before I was Turned myself. Don't think I can work with the dragons anymore— they're hyper-sensitive to everything else, I don't think they'll let an immortal anywhere near them."

Ron heard the regret in Charlie's voice, but he didn't seem nearly as distraught as he'd expect. "You're an… immortal. Fuck, Charlie— you'll never die. But… gods. No dragons. And…" his voice trailed off as the reality of his brother's vampiric state sank in.

"I feed now, blood only, though I can drink other things. I don't know what happens if I don't feed, but I suspect it's not pretty. So— we're in a bit of a difficult situation."

"It's not difficult at all," Ron insisted. "You'll feed on me, obviously. For as long as you need."

"You're practically skin and bones."

"We all are. Doesn't matter. I do get meals, sortof."

"Do you get enough water?" Charlie asked.

"I s'pose. That and some gruel-soupy stuff, some stale bread, dried fruit on occasion. Shows up like clockwork near the bars." He jerked his head at the rusty cylinders, corroded metal flaking off like torn scabs. "Does being fed on hurt? Not that it matters, but I'm just curious." Ron rolled slightly to be able to look up into Charlie's marble-like face, relieved to see a shadow of what seemed like human concern in his expression.

"No. People say it feels good, as long as you don't struggle. Bit ironic actually. Even being Changed is kind of erotic. My Change was painful, but I've been able to talk with a couple of vampires in Romania, and they've taken me under their wing, from a distance, anyway. So, well, you'll probably get off on it. But I can wait a few days."

"Don't be a martyr," Ron growled. "Whatever's going on, you need to be at full strength. How'd they capture you, anyway? Aren't you stronger in a way than any wizard, even Harry or Voldemort?"

Charlie tilted his head to the side. Ginger flecks glittered on his jaw and around his full lips. Ron marveled for a moment, wondering if his brother would have stubble on his face for eternity.

"I allowed myself to be caught. I needed to get in here to you. But silver does a number on me," he said, frowning and holding out an arm to show Ron his rope burns.

"Will you be stuck with those forever?" Ron was wracking his brain to what he remembered about vampires, but he came up with only vague memories from Defense Against the Dark Arts classes a few years ago.

"No. My healing abilities are pretty amazing, but I will need some help," he said, letting his fingers drift down to trace along Ron's jugular. At his touch, Ron felt a thrill of anticipation. Even such a small gesture chased away a few cobwebs of hopelessness that had settled around Ron's heart.

"I'm ready when you are," Ron said, trying to will the tremour out of his voice.

"Scared? Don't be," Charlie said gently, running a hand through Ron's shaggy hair.

"I'm not. It's just something new, y'know."

"Yeah. This whole War and Resistance is full of new. Pretty fucking bad new, for the most part. But we'll get out. You'll see."

Ron took Charlie's hand and held it to his chest. Gone were the rough patches, the vampirism having smoothed the evidence of his years as a dragon tamer. Charlie squeezed Ron's hand and he felt a tentative but grateful smile settle on his lips.

"I believe you. C'mon. Take what you need, Charlie."

Ron eased up to a sitting position, then watched as Charlie stood and helped Ron to his feet. "C'mere," Charlie said. "Let me hold you."

It was a bit awkward, since Ron was a good several inches taller than his brother. He rested his head on Charlie's shoulder, exposing his neck and pulling down on his jumper.

"Thank you," Charlie breathed into his ear, and only then did Ron feel the sharp tips of Charlie's fangs as they ghosted down his neck. He let out a small cry as the teeth went in but it quickly changed to a sigh of pleasure. He felt a rush of heat flood to his groin and he sank against Charlie's wide chest, clasping his hands behind his lower back. Being joined to Charlie like this was a rapture he'd never known— desire throbbed through him and he felt adored and secure. Charlie was making a pleased humming sound against his neck; the heavy thudding of his heart in his chest sank away as Ron swooned, aroused and growing faint. He felt himself being helped over to the cot and lowered down, his head cradled. Charlie sat down next to him, brushing his fringe off of his forehead. Even as the fog began to clear, Ron realized his erection must be visible and he stretched his hands down to cover himself.

"Don't worry about it," Charlie said affectionately, removing Ron's hand and palming at the bulge above his ripped and bloodstained trousers. "Really. You're not the first."

Ron smiled weakly. "Yeah, but I was thinking about you. Like _that_. Bit pervy, being my brother and all."

Charlie raised his eyebrows as a sensual expression warmed his features. "One of the advantages of being immortal is that you start to look at the world differently. I'm still Charlie, still your brother, but in many ways, I'm a totally different person." The look in Charlie's eyes was possessive and scorching, and without a word, he undid the button and flies of Ron's trousers. His hand insinuated under Ron's threadbare pants, grasping at Ron's hard cock. "Does this feel good?" he murmured, his voice as supple and comforting as a well-worn pair of leather Quidditch gloves.

All Ron could do was moan his appreciation and hope Charlie knew just how good it felt.

"I'll take that as a yes," Charlie said, sliding next to him and scooting Ron over so Charlie's back was to the cold, damp wall. Ron gazed wide-eyed at Charlie's face, amazed at how human he looked after he'd drunk from him. Charlie eased down Ron's trousers and Ron arched into his brother's talented touch.

"So brave, so loyal," Charlie breathed against Ron's lips. "Beautiful, rebellious. Can I kiss you?" The words sizzled in the heated air between their open mouths. "The fangs have receded. I won't hurt you, never hurt you—"

"Charlie," Ron gasped before his mouth was full of Charlie's questing, vigorous tongue. Ron's energy had recovered somewhat and he sent an arm around Charlie's shoulder to pull him in tightly. Charlie was devouring him, feasting with ravenous kisses while pulling up and down on Ron's shaft, the foreskin sliding up and down. Ron was drowning in sensory ecstasy. His unexpected, surreal and delicious seduction was taking him close to the edge; when Charlie paused his pistoning hand to fondle Ron's sacs and gently finger the sensitive skin behind, Ron groaned as his orgasm thundered out of him. His low, ragged cries were swallowed by Charlie's open mouth until Ron broke the kiss, panting and dazed. As he stared into Charlie's face, he began to feel low tremours throughout his body. The intensity of being reunited to and subsequently having sex with his brother had caught up to Ron's frazzled nerves.

"Are you okay?" Charlie asked, concern heavy in his voice.

"Yeah." Ron tried to get his faint shaking under control as Charlie reached down to get a blanket. While Charlie wiped up the cooling stickiness, Ron felt the tension finally ease away. He pulled up his trousers, tucking himself in and zipping up. Ron watched, stunned, as Charlie licked some of the pearly fluid off of his fingers before rubbing the rest of it on the blanket. A cheeky grin quirked the side of his mouth.

"You taste delicious," he said with a shrug. "If it's okay with you, later on, I'd like to do more with you. You've always been my favourite. And I'm not just saying that because I'm in here, either."

"I wouldn't think that!" Ron was indignant, though a shadow of that very thought had crossed his mind. There were almost too many coincidences, or maybe it was that the world Ron knew had been turned inside out. Allies turned out to be turncoats; friends, enemies. Surprisingly, even a few on the side of dark had ended up positively glowing— though most had disappeared or been found, executed. Tendrils of profound, gnawing fear began winding through the sanctity he'd felt. How could he know Charlie was telling the truth? What if he was really there to drain him dry, in his sleep, even?

Charlie must have sensed Ron's distress, because he got up on an elbow, his eerily pale face solemn. "Look, Ron— I don't know how to convince you that I mean what I say. I'm no Legilimens."

Ron snorted derisively, trying to cover up his increasing panic. "I'm pants at blocking or receiving stuff like that."

"Here. You can see the only markings I have." Charlie got up from the cot, unfastening his ratty robes and undoing his standard Order-issue tunic. He pulled it over his head and turned around, but not before Ron had taken in an admiring eyeful of strong pectorals and abdominals graced with a fiery y of curly hair, different from Ron's own. On Charlie's left shoulder was a Phoenix, immediately recognisable and almost blinding in its brilliance. Charlie stuck his arms behind him, twisting them around so that Ron saw nothing but rippling tendons. No Dark Mark was there. Ron was captivated by the lethal strength manifest in Charlie's frame. He must have been gaping a bit because a bit of the old Charlie flitted in his expression after he turned back around.

"Like what you see, eh?" he joked, winking.

Ron scratched at the thick beard that he'd grown since he'd been seized, given a farcical trial, and thrown into Azkaban. "Yeah. Always have. But… the whole we're brothers thing…"

"You remember where my Resistance tattoo is, right?" Charlie interrupted.

"If you still have it, yeah."

Charlie glared at him, a fierce look that somehow made Ron feel secure; he felt badly for doubting. Charlie's very presence seemed to repel the gloom. It was especially noticeable when he put his back to Ron, fiddled with the front of his denims and pushed them down just enough so that Ron saw the tantalysing curve of his squarish backside. Charlie turned a few degrees and there is was, a lightning bolt emblazoned on the indent of his arse. He looked over his shoulder at Ron, his expression both cool and daring. "My loyalty hasn't wavered," he said, facing Ron and zipping up his flies. "Ever."

Ron stood up and walked toward him, continuing to marvel at how different and yet the same Charlie was. He picked up Charlie's discarded clothes, the incessant annoyance of his nearby dripping tap reasserting itself in his perception. "I'm glad. Neither has mine."

He held out the shirt and robes, and Charlie took the tunic, but suggested that Ron keep the overrobe.

"I'm not affected by temperatures like you are anymore. Keep it."

Ron draped it over himself, inhaling the lingering scent of clove from the herbal cigarettes Charlie had taken to smoking. "Thanks. So." All of a sudden, Ron felt awkward, his hand halfway to Charlie's shoulder.

"So. You had a few other questions." Charlie took Ron's hand and squeezed it briefly. He glanced out into the corridor, holding onto a bar of their cell. "Do you know who else is nearby?"

Ron stood next to him, peering down the dank passageway. "Not really. It's too bloody quiet. There used to be more people; they've taken a bunch away. They never come back. Happened to Parvati, and Finch-Fletchley. Merlin, Charlie, are you really—"

Charlie covered his mouth so quickly Ron choked on his breath. Ron found himself escorted back to the cot, gasping and spluttering.

"Let's keep it down, okay?" Charlie said tersely, but not unkindly.

"Fine." Ron pulled the wool robes closer around him.

"I don't know how much you want to know, and I'm not sure how much I'm willing to tell you right now."

Ron looked askance at his brother, at his cerulean eyes with their unnatural depth and sheen. "Are you kidding? Everything!" he said in a hushed voice. "You did whatever you did to get in here to rescue me… us…" his voice trailed off, uncertain as to whether or not this Grand Plan included everybody unjustly imprisoned in Azkaban, or just him and any other Order or Resistance members still alive.

"Just you, for now. The others— when we can."

Ron blinked a few times, accepting yet another bittersweet stroke of fortune since he'd left Hogwarts. He nodded.

"The truth is, I'm not allowed to tell you much without _Obliviating_ you afterwards and obviously I'm without my wand. They made me Secret Keeper."

"Good choice, now that you'll live forever," Ron said dryly.

"I'm immortal, not indestructible," Charlie reminded him, holding out his arms to look at the rope marks on his wrists. The welts were there, but a rosy pink colour, not the lurid red they'd been when he'd first appeared at Ron's cell.

"Wow. They've healed that much?" Ron ran his middle and ring fingers over the ridges. "Do you do that naturally? Or do you have to drink for that to happen?" He raised his arm to feel at the puncture wounds on his neck, surprised when he barely felt a tingle over the spot.

"Some of both, but regular feeding does seem to make a difference. I've learned how to heal the bite marks I make. You're not hurt, are you?"

Ron shook his head, a low smoulder rekindling in his groin as he thought back to how sensual the whole experience had been, even before the bloody brilliant wanking and searing kisses. He felt a flush creep up from the base of his throat, though he was no blushing virgin. Truth was, it had felt incredibly _right_ , even though he'd been with his brother.

"Good. Hey— I didn't force you to do something you didn't want, did I?" Charlie's arm meandered behind Ron's waist and Ron leaned into him.

"No, not at all. Just didn't expect it, but, no. You're amazing. Everything's a fucking nightmare, but you being here makes things make sense. Sort of. Even though you're, well, a vampire. You're my brother and sexy as hell. I can't explain it, but I don't think it's really wrong. Don't know why. Or why not. Fuck— sorry. I've been alone so long, I'm rambling. I'm so glad you're here," he said, his torrent of words lowing to a trickle.

Charlie patted his hip and scooted away sideways on the metal slab, facing Ron and pulling his knees to his chest. He looked amused and thoughtful, reaching out to rake his fingers through Ron's beard before sitting back again. Ron's lips twitched in a rueful smile as he scratched at the bushy hair on his face.

"Can't imagine how I look," he said, trying to evaluate Charlie's expression as to whether or not Charlie found him attractive.

"Disheveled. Hairy. It suits you, though it makes you look older than you really are."

"I feel older than I am. Probably starting to go grey."

Charlie snickered. "There are worse things. Are you still with MacLeod? I don't mean to break anything up."

A fleeting set of images flashed through Ron's mind of the impressively built Scotsman, his sandy brown hair, and hands as wide and sturdy as Ron's own. He'd been a couple of years older, a bit more experienced, and rather more at ease with his attraction solely to men. Not that he wasn't subtle; Ron had been shocked and flattered when his tentmate had made oblique comments about Ron and his looks. Ron had been vague and noncommittal until one miserably cold night when they'd shared a bedroll and Jon's brusque but sexy brogue made mention of Ron's arse. Ron had rolled over and tackled him, crashing their cot to the ground as he'd attacked Jon's mouth, hungry and overcome with lust. They'd shagged whenever they could, but kept things between them very discreet. Neither had bottomed before, so things in that regard remained rather awkward. In contrast, Jon's skill at cocksucking was an absolute art.

And then, Jon MacLeod had been assigned to George. Apparently his attraction to Weasleys didn't begin and end with Ronald Bilius. He'd been dropped, though Jon hadn't been overly cruel about it. Before his joke of a trial and incarceration, Ron had caught glimpses of Jon and George and grudgingly conceded that they were a better match. Besides, with Fred having been tortured and dying in George's arms, Ron couldn't stay bitter about George's new contentment for very long.

"No," Ron said, brought back to the present as he gnawed at a hangnail. "Figured you'd've seen he's with George."

"I haven't been with the rest of the Resistance recently. In fact, I _really_ can't tell you where I was— somebody else is Secret Keeper about that location. You okay, post-MacLeod, I mean?"

"I'm not some blubbering, 'poor me' shirtlifter, y'know," Ron snapped. "I'm twenty and I've fucked a few blokes and killed loads more. Have my feelings been hurt? Sure. So fucking what? It happens."

Charlie held his hands up in surrender. "Sorry, sorry. I won't do that to you while we're together. I should drink from other people on occasion, though. Don't want you getting anemic."

"We're going to have a bloody relationship?" Ron was dumbfounded.

"We already do, remember? We're related. But yeah, once all of this is over, and even while this chaos is going on, I want to be with you."

Ron needed time to let that sink in, but Charlie forced him back to their immediate situation. "Do you get any sunlight?"

"What? Oh. Of course. That's all it would take to do you in. Shite." Embarrassment flashed hotly through Ron, making him feel like an idiotic git back in one of Snape's potions classes. "Yeah, I get a little, but it's pretty weak. Doesn't travel far, either, just in that part of the cell." He pointed to the dingy corner, and the indistinct human shape rubbed out of the grime. "It can't burn you from a distance, can it?"

Charlie shook his head. "Don't think so. I got a crash course in vampires before being assigned to the group going to Lews, but mostly about how to defend against them, not how to keep them safe."

Just then, a grotty bowl appeared inside the bars, flanked by a cracked plate with two dinner rolls caving in on themselves.

"Dinner," Ron sighed, as though it needed explanation.

"Gotta say, mine was far more appetizing," Charlie said, winking.

Ron rolled his eyes, though secretly he hoarded the compliment. He levered up from the cot and retrieved a bent, hybrid eating utensil he'd shelved on an uneven outcropping of stone. He held it underneath a rusty spigot and a small stream of water slid over the forkspoon and down the manky drain on the floor. After shaking off the utensil, he picked up his meal, eating it there standing up, out of habit. As he drained the last of his flavourless soup, he turned to look at Charlie, to _really_ take him in. A powerful, protective urge bloomed in him though Charlie only needed assistance during daylight. Still, even that meagre contribution to his brother's — his lover's? — safety gave Ron a renewed sense of purpose that had been getting leeched out of him day by day. He hadn't recognised just how trapped and useless he'd felt until Charlie had joined him, reminding him that the Resistance still raged.

"We shouldn't risk anything that should harm you," Ron stated emphatically, chewing the doughy mass of roll and forcing himself to swallow. "Don't know how much I'll be able to sleep tonight, but I'll do my best, and I'll keep watch over you during the day. Cover you up with your cloak, I guess. What've you been doing so far?"

Charlie had shifted so his back was against the wall, his legs crossed. "I improvised. Not into sleeping in a coffin or anything like that, but Merlin knows what I'll be like in the future. Assuming there is one."

Ron shared his sentiment. "You and I are still around, and Harry. And—" he paused, uncertain as to whether or not he wanted to know right that minute who all else had been imprisoned, or tortured, killed, kidnapped…

"I'll fill you in a bit later," Charlie suggested.

"Thanks."

His meal finished, Ron placed the bowls and plate outside of the bars. They vanished seconds later. He went to the opposite corner from where he usually slept and relieved himself, grateful as always that an appropriate-sized drain appeared, along with a few floating pieces of rough loo paper. He tucked himself in, feeling Charlie's gaze. Strangely enough, Ron didn't mind; he'd never thought he was much of a looker, especially not now. Apparently his brother felt differently, and Ron was flattered in a way more profound than when he'd had MacLeod's affections. The more minutes went by and he got used to Charlie being there, being a vampire, and remembering how amazing it felt to be kissed so ferociously and intimately, the more at peace Ron felt.

"You're awfully thoughtful," Charlie murmured, silently patting the space next to him.

"Loads to think about." Ron sat in the proffered spot. "Oh! It's Wednesday. Shower day," he blurted out.

"Shower day? Good, I think. I've not bathed in a few days. Hope I don't smell too ripe."

"No, not at all. In fact, you don't really smell at all. You're welcome to clean up with me if you want. I doubt we'll get much if any extra time or water, though."

"Doesn't bother me. Certainly not a hardship for me to get to be naked with you, soap you down…"

Ron sniggered with disbelief. "Seems like you're either hard up or being Turned has made you a pervy, horny bastard."

"I don't hear you complaining." Charlie pinched Ron's nipple through his jumper.

"Oy! That bloody hurt!" Ron exclaimed, rubbing at his chest, but he grinned nonetheless.

Two threadbare towels appeared on the edge of the cot. On top were two washcloths that were so worn out it was like looking through paper when Ron held them up to show Charlie how pathetic it was. "Guess they are making accommodation for you," he said. "Better strip down; the shower head doesn't stay around more than fifteen minutes."

They undressed quickly, Ron taking the towels and rags to hang on rusty hooks which had appeared near the temporary shower. He set the temperature as hot as he could get it before looking at Charlie.

"Hot or cold, it doesn't affect me, remember? Put it the way you want it," Charlie proposed.

Ron huddled under the thin spray until it heated him up, then he scooted over to make room for his brother.

"May I wash you?" Charlie asked, taking the soap off of a blackened and corroded shell-shaped dish.

"Whatever raises your robes," Ron quipped.

"You do."

The last shreds of Ron's resistance to Charlie's continued advances burned away like mist in morning sun. He luxuriated in his brother's ministrations, his cock beginning to stir when Charlie spent extra time washing between his legs and soaping his wiry auburn pubic hair.

"Your turn," Ron said, his voice raspy as he rinsed off and took the slender bar from Charlie's hand. Charlie pressed fully against him, interlocking his hands behind Ron's back as he sucked on Ron's lower lip. It was so decadent, this taboo but undeniable desire that had sparked between them, now hot as burning coals. Ron kissed back, sending his tongue into Charlie's mouth, lust buzzing in his veins, settling in his heavy shaft. Their kisses were deep and wet; Ron's eyes closed against the water, his hands grasping at the muscular, narrow arse.

"Wanna suck you," Ron said with a gasp. He pulled back slightly to look at Charlie, his eyes dilated in the dim light, and reflective of his own arousal. "After I get you cleaned up."

"Please. Yes. Hurry up," Charlie pleaded, turning to face the wall, legs spread and his hands braced gracefully against the stone. Ron indulged himself a few seconds of unhindered ogling. The cartography of Charlie's wide, muscular back was a terrain of bleached freckles, burn scars now merely silvery trails, and the tattoos that blazed vibrantly; not just his Order Phoenix but also an opalescent Snegbog dragon. Ron washed him expediently but with reverent fingers. Once facing him, Ron lingered on the bronze hair between his ribs, following the beckoning trail until he dropped carefully to his knees and sucked Charlie's stiffening cock into his mouth. Adulation and stifled moans rained down on him with the water, inspiring Ron as he swirled his tongue around the sensitive flesh. He anchored himself, holding on to the back of Charlie's strong thighs, bobbing his head in and out, relishing the hot skin and the exposed crown sliding against his palate. A hand on his shoulder caused him to look up.

"So good," Charlie mouthed, and Ron smiled around his vinegarsweet prize.

Charlie thrust two, three more times before his face contorted in a silent grimace of pleasure, his release flooding Ron's mouth. He noted that there was a metallic tang to it as he swallowed. He licked the last drops from the top until Charlie's hips bucked, and Ron squatted back on his heels. His heart tripped over itself, racing as a lazy smile eased on Charlie's lips. Warm water continued to trickle down while Ron stood up, enfolded moments later in Charlie's arms. Ron splayed his hands at the base of Charlie's spine, his fingers resting on the dimpled curves.

"You're amazing," Charlie breathed into Ron's ear, the air overly warm as the water, showerhead, soap and dish all suddenly disappeared.

"Guess you're inspiring." Ron kissed Charlie's temple and down the side of his face until the cold air made Ron break out in goose bumps.

"Let's get you dried off," Charlie suggested, brushing a chaste kiss on Ron's lips before retrieving their towels.

Once dried and dressed, Ron went through his daily regimen of exercises. They were Resistance standards, so Charlie joined him, though he admitted that his body wouldn't change anymore, at least not physically. After Ron had finished his final pushups and had a drink from the ever-dripping faucet, he told Charlie he was ready to hear everything and anything that he could tell him. He wanted to get caught up on what all had happened in the over two months that he found out he'd been held prisoner. Charlie talked for a couple of hours, leaving Ron drowning in a quicksand of emotions. When Charlie stopped and suggested that he get some sleep, Ron's optimistic belief and furious rage were still battling.

"I'll rub your back for a little bit," he said as Ron readied his joint-bruising bed.

"That'd be brilliant," Ron said, lying down on his stomach and tugging up his moth-eaten, ripped blanket to his waist.

"I'll feel the pull of dawn about a half-hour before the sun rises." Charlie's strong fingers pressed into Ron's sore muscles, working out the knots that had built up for months and months. "I'll get you up before then, and cover myself. I'll need you to guard me, in case anyone comes. Don't disturb me, though; apparently I snapped Longbottom's wand and nearly his upper arm before someone pulled him away from me one morning. He'd just been trying to move me more into the dark, but evidently I felt threatened. Thing is, I didn't wake up."

"Hmmpph," Ron mumbled into the blanket, easing into sleep as Charlie massaged away Ron's tension.

* * * * *

Ron spent the day going through his usual routine, such as it was, though his eye often strayed to the cloak-covered form of his brother. He'd watched Charlie sink into unconsciousness; after that, he'd simply knelt next to him for a few minutes, seeing just how inhuman Charlie appeared. His chest rose and fell so slowly, Ron felt his own speed up as though to compensate. It wasn't a bright, sunny day, and for once, Ron was glad.

Only two days passed before the night when Charlie felt his lightning tattoo heat up. He slid down his denims and boxers, and Ron saw the confirmation as well— the black tattoo now gleamed gold.

"After this, if it all goes well, when you see me again, we'll be back at Headquarters."

Charlie looked almost apologetic as his fangs descended. Ron merely lay back on the cot, his mind racing as he thought about how many ways this plan could go wrong, then focussed on his brother's rugged face. Charlie would drain him enough to allow him to be at his maximum strength and stealth. Ron would have lost so much blood, he'd likely be passed out for the duration.

"Just tell me I'll see you again."

Charlie stroked Ron's forehead, his sharp eyeteeth pressing lightly on his lower lip.

"You will."

Ron felt his neck pierced, sensed the blood coursing into Charlie's mouth, sank into heated, languid bliss as the cell grew darker and dimmer…

~~ Epilogue ~~

The night had been full of highlights, including: two captured and safely detonated Death Eater grenades— nasty ones, too, with _Impuratus_ curses; wards Ron was able to disarm, revealing an abandoned hideout that Bulstrode had denied until her dying day existed. And then there was the most basic, the one that Ron never took as a given until it was gifted to him; being able to enjoy a Skullsplitter or glass of Oban with Charlie, do their bedtime rituals, and enjoy some time in bed together before Charlie needed to be sequestered away. It didn't matter that they were still running from place to place, Ron sleeping on a standard-issue cot and Charlie in his highly secured trunk. Nor did Ron mind that he only rarely saw the sun anymore, preferring to be awake when his nocturnal beloved was up and around. Nobody knew that he and Charlie had a fraternal bond that was now far deeper than that of most conventional brothers, though Ron thought George might have his suspicions. It wasn't that Ron was ashamed, not at all, but neither did he feel the need to shout it from his Skyrunner that he'd discovered in his older brother an ideal mate. Charlie understood him, cut him slack for his temper, was easygoing in a thankfully still-familiar manner, and loyal to Ron in a capacity that only Harry could surpass.

Then there was the feeding, and not at all lastly, their intimacies. Ron had known deep understanding before this; through Harry he knew how a profound friendship felt, rooted in his bones, as elemental as the constellations of freckles on his skin. Sharing his blood with Charlie, providing nourishment and life to him, was a rush Ron never tired of. He thrived on seeing Charlie look nearly human again, a faint ruddiness back in his face, pink tinges to his scars. As a lover, Charlie was brilliant, not to mention that he just felt so bloody _right_ when they tussled and slid against each other, naked and angled and undeniably male.

Ron sank into a chair, tired but with a faint lingering buzz of adrenaline from the night's activities. He sipped on his scotch, rubbing at his eyes and propping up his feet on their small supply icebox. Charlie shucked his jacket and jumper before he flicked Ron's ankle, then eased down onto the bed.

"Ow! You could just ask for a beer, y'know," Ron said, stubbornly keeping his feet on the floor.

"I could," Charlie agreed, "Figured I didn't need to say anything. You know what I like."

Ron raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Me."

Charlie's smile turned feral. "True enough." He sat on the bed, legs apart, his t-shirt promoting some older Muggle band called The Clash. Faster than Ron could follow with his eyes, Charlie's wand had come out of his holster and his glass of scotch flew over into Charlie's hand. Ron scowled, still disconcerted when Charlie used his superhuman abilities like that, especially on him.

"Come and get it," Charlie half-taunted, though his voice was edged with promise, not malice.

"I hate it when you do that," Ron grumbled, getting up nonetheless and sitting next to Charlie. "It's creepy."

"I'm a vampire. Comes with the territory."

"I know, Merlin! But I'd appreciate it if you'd not use it on me, or at least warn me first."

Charlie gave him a long look, taking a deep swallow of the amber liquid as he did. "Sorry," he said finally, handing back the glass. "Didn't mean for you to think I was making you take the piss or something." He ran a hand through his hair, watching as Ron drained the contents. "Hell's harpys, but I wish I could get blotto like before. Oh well."

Ron patted his knee. "There are other things we can do for fun, and they don't involve hangovers. For me," he said, sliding his hand along Charlie's inner thigh to rest on his groin.

"You'd think you never get any," Charlie joked, but he put his own hand on top of Ron's, encouraging Ron to continue.

"I can never get enough," Ron insisted, claiming Charlie's mouth and rubbing his hand on top of the slowly-hardening bulge.

Soon they'd banished their clothes; it was closer to daylight than Ron had hoped and Charlie never risked getting caught by the sun, so they didn't waste time with elaborate disrobing. Ron dropped the glass onto the ground, wrapping his arms around Charlie's back as he rocked into him, chest to chest, Ron on his back. Their tongues slid and lapped in the wet heat of eager mouths; while no longer as novel, Ron still felt his blood heat up and his cock turn to iron when Charlie kissed him passionately. Charlie languidly slid down Ron's body, mouthing against the side of Ron's neck. When Ron felt a gentle, questing tap of sharp teeth, he moaned his assent. Charlie only drank a small amount, just a 'sample of elixir,' as Charlie sometimes said.

Moments later Charlie was sitting astride him, his wide, muscular thighs flexing around Ron's own as he held their shafts together. Ron gripped above Charlie's knees, his gaze captured first by the erotic sight of their very different, but equally hard cocks being wanked, then by Charlie's face as he looked back at him. Charlie's expression was intent, hungry and focussed, reassuring Ron that their mutual pleasure was all he cared about at that time.

"Want you," Charlie implored, the need in his voice making Ron arch into his hand.

"What way?"

Since Charlie, Ron's sexual horizons had been greatly widened, and he was randy enough for nearly anything.

"Just stay where you are."

Charlie murmured a cleansing and lubrication spell, then let go of their pricks, planting one hand above Ron's hip on the bed. Ron watched avidly as Charlie placed Ron's cock at his slicked entrance, easing Ron into his tight muscles while he slowly sank down. Once fully seated, Charlie let out a satisfied sigh.

"Fuck," Ron groaned. Topping from underneath had never occurred to him, but like everything else he'd experienced with Charlie, it only stoked Ron's libido.

"Oh yeah," Charlie promised, raising up before sitting back down.

Ron clenched his arse, pressing in as far as possible into the scalding grasp of Charlie's channel. Mesmerised, Ron watched as Charlie eased into an increasingly aggressive pace. He snapped his hips in time with Charlie's descents, wanting to close his eyes, to simply feel and listen, relishing the slap of skin on skin. But when Charlie took his own cock in hand, Ron couldn't help but watch: the skin sliding down, exposing the glistening head, and the look of concentration on Charlie's face— that and the relentless, delicious pressure on his cock. It was overwhelming and ultimately his undoing.

"Coming — Charlie — fuck —" Ron's staccato litany was reduced to low groans as his orgasm shook through him, and he squeezed his eyes shut. Once his heartbeat slowed and the feeling crept back into his hands and feet, he heard Charlie's pistoning quicken and he opened his eyes. Charlie sat still, his powerful legs holding taut as he took himself over the edge to his release. The rosy fluid coursed over his fingers; Charlie threw his head back, his panting obvious by his heaving chest.

After a few moments, Charlie came back to himself. He gave Ron a sated, wistful smile. "Wish I could lounge around with you," he said, releasing his spent prick and casting a silent _Scourgify_.

"Me too," Ron said, shifting so Charlie could ease up and off of him. He waited until they were nestled together before continuing. "Do you think, maybe, in the future, we could get a place together, and we could set our room up so no sunlight got in and it had practically unbreakable wards? I hate it, you being closed away in that bloody trunk, and me, alone, on the cot," he admitted.

Thankfully, Charlie didn't make fun of him. "Yeah, I reckon that's doable. Probably easier to do and not have to answer as many questions if we're not in England. Obviously I have contacts in Romania— do you think you'd be okay going there with me?"

Charlie smoothed down Ron's eyebrows and carded the tops of his fingers through Ron's now trim goatee. Ron nodded.

"I could work on my Healing spells. Surely their hospitals could use another Healer, right?" he asked as Charlie pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek and got up to dress for his day's sleep.

"Don't see why not."

Ron propped himself up on an elbow, following Charlie as he began and then finished his ablutions. Just before he got ready to lie down in his lined trunk, Ron got up from the bed. He walked the few steps over to Charlie and his open arms, savouring the embrace until Charlie stepped back. "Sleep well," he said, easing his hands across Ron's upper back and lightly squeezing his shoulders.

"See you tonight."

Once Charlie was safely ensconced in his large trunk, Ron stepped through the flap of the tent. He yawned widely, his jaw popping in the pre-dawn hush. Hugging himself against the chill, he looked up into the dark sky. He scanned the stars, naming constellations in his head as he recognised them until a shooting star near the horizon caught his eye. It streaked and vanished, leaving Ron to gaze at the dim light heralding the cusp of morning. Ron yawned again, scratched an itch at his side, and turned to go back into their tent.

_I hope things are always good between us_ , he wished belatedly on the falling star.

Shaking his head, he snorted at himself. "Bloody sentimental git," he mumbled under his breath. He closed and warded the tent, and gently ran his hand across the top of Charlie's trunk. "Sweet dreams," he murmured.

To fanciful visions of Charlie riding a dragon, whooping into the star-studded sky, Ron drifted into sleep.

**..:~:..**


End file.
